


through a glass, darkly

by glassy_light



Category: The Lighthouse (2019)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M, Smut, i promise my other fic will update soon editing is killing me, i tried to make it tonally the same (e.g its kinda gross), lit rally thats it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-19 10:28:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22142782
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glassy_light/pseuds/glassy_light
Summary: The name “Thomas” means “twin”. They share in desire, for a bit.
Relationships: Ephraim Winslow/Thomas Wake
Comments: 2
Kudos: 87





	through a glass, darkly

1 Corinthians 13:12

For now we see through a glass, darkly; but then face to face: now I know in part; but then shall I know even as also I am known.

They were drunk, and light with it. It wouldn’t have happened any other way; their pride muzzled them both when they were conscious, and kept desire in its cage. But now they were laid bare in the open, and were drawn together like magnets. They had danced, and tired of it, and told stories, and tired of it, and now it seemed like there was only one thing left to be done. 

Ephraim had, up in those frozen northern winters, tried what he could think to try. Wake’s face against his shoulder was a distantly familiar comfort, and he reflexively leaned into his warmth. He didn’t know the song that Wake was singing in a dizzying lilt, but he clung to it like the hands that fisted in his shirt. Their feet traced a sloppy waltz around the kitchen, revolutions that echoed the light throbbing over the black waves.

And then the song went lax in Wake’s mouth, and Ephraim was looking down into a grizzled face as a hand came to rest along his throat. His pulse jumped, electric and uncertain, under a knobby thumb. Wake’s hair was a white spray of towhead familiarity remembered from the lumber camps, and Ephraim was slipping, leaning closer and watching as that crooked mouth drew near.

Some distant, sober part of him was squirming uncomfortably, pulling away, but it felt too good to stop. Maybe he was reaching out for some sort of approval, aching for it after making all those grand mistakes. Maybe Wake was straining for human warmth after years of ablutions in cold light. Whatever it was, it drove them together, and dry lips were crushing into Ephraims, and a fisted hand at his nape was pulling him down. They met eagerly.

Wake’s mouth was hot and wet and rang with the biting taste of gin, with something fetid hid beneath it. Ephraim was sure he was no better. A canine scraped his lip, and the grip on his shoulder was tight enough to burn. Even in this, it seemed he would be subservient. 

It was shameful, even drunk, to admit part of him liked it: the way he was thrown about. (he deserved it, didn’t he? Was just a long string of screw-ups forced into a man’s shape? He would take any attention he could get, and take it gladly). So he didn’t. He tried to ignore the tugging want, and focused instead on staying upright as he was moved backward. As in the dance, he let Wake move him about, more an object than a living thing.

His hands were clumsy on Wake’s shoulders, but he knew what was coming when the edge of the kitchen table dug into his spine. Ephraim was flushed, and embarrassingly hard where he was pressed against Wake’s thigh. Like a good dog, he looked at the floor instead of Wake’s face. It was a silent, awkward shuffle to get off his boots and shed his trousers.

Then he was down on his back, cold against the wood, trying not to whine like a frightened dog (needy bitch). He closed his eyes and tried to calm his breathing as Wake unbuttoned his trousers and took his cock in his hand. 

It wasn't perfect, to have Wake groaning over him, bruising toothy kisses into his neck, but he sensed through the alcohol that it was as close as they would get. Wake drooled spit into his palm and stroked in down his cock, and Ephraim could feel the cold wet head drag along his inner thigh. When Wake fucked into him, he tensed a little and then lay still. The rain was picking up outside. 

The table was creaking under the weight of Ephraim: blood and muscle and bone. Wake wasn’t gentle; he didn’t go out of his way to be considerate. He moved in harsh, stuttering jerks, hands clamped on Ephraim’s hips, dragging him towards him. It would be a lie to say that Ephraim didn’t look alluring, trembling there on the table. His eyes were closed, and his own hand muffled his mouth. Licked all over by a sheen of sweat, and pale as seafoam, he could have been cast in marble. But Wake wasn’t one to admit such sentimentalities.

The tight push and pull was enough to rip a few uncomfortable cries from the body beneath him, though he ultimately came first. Winslow was still a picture of self-restraint, laying there, cock untouched, chest heaving. 

Wake’s seemingly ungiving nature was the excuse Ephraim used for the way he startled when with a certain smugness, the old man reached down and held him, helpless. Ephraim didn’t protest, but his face blazed red, and with a few rough movements of Wake’s hand, and a few involuntary little thrusts of his hips, he was brought to ecstasy. When he opened his eyes, Wake was looking down at him with something uncomfortably soft in his wrinkled face, and suddenly the disgust caught up with him. 

And then they fell apart. Wake straightened with an arthritic cracking of his back, buttoned his pants, and produced another bottle of drink from some occulted hiding place in the pantry. Ephraim sat up and pulled his trousers back on. He felt terribly pathetic, and the only solution he could find was to drink more. When he held out his hand for a swig from the bottle, Wake supplied it to him gladly. 

Ephraim was the first to rise, the light coming through the kitchen window in a bright wave that did nothing to help his hangover. His stubbly face was cushioned against his arm, and his ribs ached from sleeping on the floor. He took one look at Wake, sleeping with his pants around his ankles, and was haunted by the night before. Ephraim helped the old man to his feet and continued as they had before, with blessedly no mention of acts done in the dark.


End file.
